


Inebriation 101 (Or, if You're Jeff Winger: How To Be an Ass)

by openhearts



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay.  There.  First draft of the first paragraph of "Dean Pelton:  RACIST.  The Truth Behind the Toni Braxton Text Message Scandal" done.</p><p> </p><p>Beta'd by Jenn/Crackers4jenn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inebriation 101 (Or, if You're Jeff Winger: How To Be an Ass)

"Listen up all you students of life! The truth is out there. And it's important. Because without the truth, what do we have? Lies, and rumors, and hurt feelings, and RACISM. And 9/11! Yeah. I bet you didn't realize it but 9/11? Caused by LIES. Because the truth will set us free. And Jeff 'Because I Said So' Winger can yell ALL HE WANTS because I know the truth, and everyone else should know it. So there. Annie Edison doesn't just lay down and take it, she stands UP for what's true and good and right in this world."

Okay. There. First draft of the first paragraph of "Dean Pelton: RACIST. The Truth Behind the Toni Braxton Text Message Scandal" done. It will never make it to print, much less past her laptop screen, but it felt good to get it all out. Annie cracked her knuckles and took a few deep, calming breaths before she started in on the actual story. 

She was about four paragraphs in, working on integrating a quote she got from an anonymous source via text message (how fitting!) and reached for her trusty A.P. style guide . . . which was nowhere to be found. Annie looked up from the screen and dug through her backpack. No stylebook. She opened the drawers of the desk she shared with Abed 

(well, she used to share it with Abed, before he moved into Jeff's office and she'd been promoted to "Ace Newshound"- a nickname she'd been thinking of embossing on a name plate for her new desk; "Annie "Ace" Edison: Reporter at Large.")

and picked through carefully, but no luck there either. She frowned and looked around the room, trying to remember when she'd last had the book in hand. 

Her eyes stopped on the door signed "Editor." Bingo. Earlier that day she'd been giving Jeff a rundown of her sources thus far. She bit her lip and frowned a little harder. The office was probably locked. It was after hours for Jeff, and besides, it wouldn't be entirely respectful to go into the Editor's office without his permission. No, it would be best to just put her draft on hold and wait until tomorrow to finish the story. As she thought she inched towards the door in question.

Annie crossed her arms, now standing directly in front of the door, and tried very hard to remind herself that even though Jeff was being a . . . a big stupid JERK FACE, that he was still the Editor and she should really-

OH HECK. 

She tried the door, and it swung open, revealing the darkened office beyond. She scoffed openly. Well somebody who would leave an office of this caliber unlocked for just anyone to waltz right in doesn't even deserve privacy. Right? 

Annie tip-toed in and cautiously flipped the light switch on. She crept silently toward the desk, pausing every pace or two to glance behind her. She looked carefully over the desk, but didn't see her style book. Which seemed odd, since she was sure she'd been standing at Jeff's shoulder and pointing out a specific passage on gender assignment pronouns to him. She'd given up pretty quickly when he didn't seem to be listening. But still, that book should be right there . . . 

"HEEEeeeeeey there, you over-eager reporter, you!"

Annie stifled a shriek and looked up, bug-eyed, at Jeff, who was leaning casually in the doorway.

"Jeff! I-"

"Would you mind referring to me as "Sir Editor"? It's got a nice ring to it, no?"

He swaggered over to his desk and flopped into his chair. It rolled backward a few feet with his momentum, and Annie had to leap to the side to keep from getting knocked over. 

She peered at Jeff curiously. His eyes looked oddly glazed over, and he seemed extra laid back, even for New Semester Jeff version 2.0.

"Um, sure, Sir Editor. Whatever you say. Hey, crazy question here, right out of the blue, but . . . ARE YOU DRUNK, JEFF?!"

"Oh, dude, man, noooooooooo. You don't have to yell like that." He reached blindly back over his shoulder and managed to catch one of Annie's hands, which he swung back and forth a few times. "Annie . . . Banannie. Fee Fi Fo . . . Fannie? No, that's not a good game. Never mind. About the Fannie. Well, not your fannie, because-"

"Ohhhhhh-kay. . . I'm just gonna go now." Annie began to creep away, hoping to make it out the door and out of this uncomfortable and incriminating situation as soon as possible.

"Wait, what were you doing in here?"

Annie froze halfway to the door and cringed at the wall in front of her. "I was looking for my A.P. Style Guide?"

"Ay. Pee. Style. Guiiiiiiiiiiiid-UH."

Annie turned around and rolled her eyes. She squinted testily at Jeff and crossed her arms. "Yeah, you know, a guide. For how to write a newspaper article. Kind of like the articles in the newspaper of which you are the Editor."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. Are you questioning my fitness?" Jeff curled one arm up to the side and pointed to his bicep dramatically. "- as an editor? Because I've got some free tickets for you, lady. To the print-media gun show." He chuckled quietly to himself.

Annie couldn't help but blush a little. Yeah he was a big jerk face, but he did have nice arms. She dropped onto the couch across from Jeff with a huff. "Jeff," she sighed, "why does everybody like you so much?"

Jeff adopted an overly-serious listening posture with his elbows on the desk and his fingers tented under his chin. His extremely raised eyebrow dropped and he sat up a little straighter. "Go on?"

"I mean, the dean offered you the Editor position when you didn't even want it. If I'd known they were going to promote someone to Editor right away, I would have told him I wanted it, but no, I'm stuck doing the crossword."

Jeff's face screwed up in thought for a few moments.

"But you love the crossword."

"Not when it's my only job! I joined the newspaper to be a reporter! To bring the news of Greendale to the people! To-"

"But I promoted you to reporter."

"Yeah, and then you cut my first story! I see how things are. It's still just a big old boys club, and I for one-"

"Annie. Bobann- wait, no. Hold on. Hold the phone."

Jeff got up and filled a martini glass with some clear liquid from the contraption on the table next to his desk. He speared two olives on a stirrer and dropped them into the glass with a plop, then sauntered over to the couch and held the glass out to Anine.

"W-what is that?"

"It's juice. Drink up."

"Jeff, that's not juice." Annie took the glass (but only because it looked like he was going to spill it all over her any second now) and sniffed delicately. Through the spluttering coughs as she tried to clear the fumes from her nose, Annie protested weakly, "this is really not juice, Jeff."

"Oh? What's that? I'm sorry I can't hear you when I'm being referred to thusly. What's my name again?" 

Annie gave a withering stare to Jeff's back where he stood at the still filling a glass for himself.   
"Y'know what, it doesn't matter. Because you just need to listen for a second here to Sir Editor. The problem, is not that I get to be king of this little production-"  
"Editor, Jeff. Editor, not king."  
"-hm. Well then the scepter I ordered online might be a mistake."  
"You didn't use our budget for that did you?"  
". . ."  
"JEFF!"  
"You don't have any balls, Annie!" Jeff exploded in reply. Annie started to reply, but he cut her off, leaving her to listen indignantly.  
"If you really had the balls to be the Woodstein Bernwood of Greendale, you would have gotten my job before Dean even offered it to me. And you would have offered him the chance to explain himself in a letter to the editor, and then you would submit a story that doesn't scream RACIST every third word because then I could actually publish it and everybody's happy. Oh, and then you also wouldn't get demoted to mere Crossword Bitch again."

He careened over to his chair and sat again before raising his glass and his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"It's Woodward and Bernstein. There were two of them," she corrected him grouchily.

"Psh, details, details," Jeff dissmissed, waving his free hand at her. "Whatcha gonna do, Ace? Gonna drink the Koolaid, or go cry into your A.P. Style Guide about how life isn't going your way?"

Annie, whose expression had melted from whining fury into frustrated yet complete realization, returned Jeff's slightly bleary stare and raised an eyebrow in challenge. She raised her glass and, with only a bit of terrified hesitation, threw back the whole thing in three big gulps.

 

She choked on the olive, sneezed five times in a row, her eyes watered profusely and she momentarily lost her sense of hearing, but she survived.

"There, Sir Editor," she croaked finally. "How you like those apples, huh?"

Jeff just nodded appraisingly at her and took a sip of his own drink. Annie couldn’t imagine how he didn’t even grimace at the taste of what she was sure was just rubbing alcohol.

Annie nodded purposefully, stood, and smoothed out her skirt. 

"Well then, I'll just be on my way. Then." 

She gathered her backpack with as much dignity and as little wavering on the unsteady ground as she could. "Goodnight."

"G'night."

Annie was almost through the doorway when Jeff laboriously lifted himself from his chair, calling, "Wait, wait wait."

Annie popped back into the room. Well, if she were sober she would have popped. As it was her two-hundred-proof drink was not cohabitating well with her empty stomach so she sort of leaned jerkily and grabbed onto the door frame to keep from falling.

"Mm?"

Jeff stared toward the door slack-jawed, a little stream of liquid dribbling down the side of his precariously tipped glass and over his wrist. He started after a moment, righted his glass, and almost tipped the thing completely over again in his attempt to lick his own wrist clean. Annie crossed the room quickly, taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the desk. 

"Thanks," Jeff mumbled as he sucked the last few drops off his arm. He looked up at her squintily. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this Annie,” he said in a sigh.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, this,” he waved his hands around and Annie’s eye line followed the swooping movement. “All this . . . boss stuff. It’s stupid right? I love being in charge. I was born in charge.” 

He swiveled in the chair and rested his arms on the desk with his cheek pillowed on top.   
“But I’m trying to be more laid back. I’m trying really hard. And this,” –a one-handed wild hand wave – “is just making me fail.”

He sat up and swiveled again, pointing one finger at Annie accusingly. “Jeff Winger doesn’t fail,” he informed her seriously, before spinning back to the desk and collapsing again.

Annie stood, stunned, for a few moments, working through everything Jeff had said. He interrupted her thoughts, adding,

“And the worst part is I yelled at you. Jeff Winger doesn’t yell at cute girls. What’s going on?! THIS SCHOOL IS MAKING MY WORLD SO WRONG!”

Annie’s mouth popped open and hung there for a moment before she spoke cautiously. She turned and leaned carefully on the edge of the desk next to Jeff’s elbow. He didn’t look up.

“Maybe instead of trying so hard to be laid back you should just try to choose activities that play to your strengths,” she began, channeling the level-headed guidance counselor she’d never had (“If you don’t get at least a 30 on the ACT’s, you’ll never amount to anything. Trust me, I got a 25.”)

Jeff mumbled something unintelligible into his arm, so she continued cautiously.

“But I don’t think you failed as an editor. I didn’t even realize how unreasonable I was being until you got so mad about it.”

Jeff raised his head and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He heaved a long sigh. “I’m reeeeeeeally drunk, aren’t I?”

Annie smiled sympathetically and nodded.

“Blugh,” Jeff sighed, and dropped his chin to rest on his arms. “I’m still sorry I yelled at you,” he said through his teeth, without lifting his chin.

Annie smiled down into her lap for a moment. “I forgive you.”  
“You shouldn’t. I’ll probably do it again. Because this school, I’m serious, it does things to me, stupid, annoying things, and . . .”

“Jeff?” Annie interrupted, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

“Wha?”

Jeff raised his head again and stared at her blearily. He blinked about four times in the span of as many seconds.

“It’ll be okay.”

One corner of Jeff’s mouth turned up in a little grin, which Annie returned. She felt something flutter in her stomach and didn’t think it was from her drink. They just sat and stared for a few moments longer. 

Jeff nodded and muttered, "Yeah."

"I'm . . . gonna go," Annie said unsurely. She made herself get up from the desk and smoothed her hands over her sweater.

"Don't let all the alcohol hit you in the door on the way out," Jeff called after her weakly.

Annie looked back from the doorway and smiled shyly, while Jeff lifted one hand in a wave. When she glanced back through the window as she gathered her backpack in the outer office, Jeff had both feet up on the desk and his head lolled against the back of the chair. She heard a snore and smiled as she turned to go.

_


End file.
